Flashes of Red
by GIrisi
Summary: Several years after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry Potter is frozen solid by a Basalisk. Several years later, a barely alive, definitely not frozen Harry shows up in a muggle ER under the care of Attending Physician Malfoy. Discussions ensue. SLASH
1. Crash Into Me

Chapter One: Crash Into Me Disclaimer: I do not own any elements of the potterverse, I just borrow them.

**Authors note:** This is my first fic, written in a 4am finals induced madness. I am not really sure where I'm going with it, and I'm wicked unreliable with updates, but I promise to crank something out if it appears the masses are enjoying it. Please do let me know if you enjoy my writing, it means a great deal to me!

Chapter One: Crash Into Me

_It keeps coming in these flashes of red_, Harry tried to turn his head to emphasize the whispers. _Flashes of red,_ he urgently moved his lips while voices swarmed around him, slowly blurring more and more as if he was underwater. One of them stood out to him, almost singing in soft tones, and had he been able to understand what it articulated, he would have heard, "Hold on Harry, Hold on."

And there came the memory of this mother's voice, clear as a lark. She sang to him a sweet song, a warm song, cradling him in the warmth of her breast, and all he knew was warmth, and her voice. She smiled. "Harry." And then she tensed, and held him tighter, and then the screaming… All he could hear was the screaming, and the red as her life poured out of her.

Movement. Harry gurgled, lurching out of the memory- the world around him was moving, fast. Or perhaps he was moving within the world? He couldn't tell, but the persistent rumbling beneath him, the occasional shaking of his body as they hit a bump. He became acutely aware of pain radiating from every point of his body, but especially his chest. _Flashes of red, do you hear me? I can only see the flashes of red._ It was urgent, this message, he had to tell them.

And he slid into a memory of red, as his wand and body glowed with iron heat, contrasting the bright green emanating from Voldemort. Once again the two wizards stood, faces etched with concentration, sweat beading down sickly green skin, and into emerald green eyes. A war raged around them, but for these two wizards, in this very moment, there was deathly silence as the fates held their breath. And then a flash of red, and Harry, with a shout, overpowered the Dark Lord, and with one wail, it was done.

Warmth. His body was suddenly engulfed in magic. He struggled against it for a moment, until, wearily, he submitted, desperate to fall asleep and into the darkness, desperate to escape the red. A shape moved above him, something light against the stark white ceiling, pale skin and pale hair and a white coat, and was that a wand? No matter, it disappeared again, leaving only the pale hair and pale skin, as Harry slipped away again.

Her hair was so red. He remembered it pooled across the pillow some mornings, stroking it as he watched her slumber. He remembered it shielding her face as she shook in grief as the first child miscarried. He remembered it sweeping out of the door behind her when she told him she was leaving. He remembered finding it in their sheets and in their home the next week, and crumpling with the grief of losing her. He remembered leaving his entire home, only to get away from her red, red hair, and moving out to muggle London, where she had never been, and he could forget.

Pain. There was so much pain. Harry arched, keening, but found he was unable to move or speak. The world looked and sounded like it was underwater, he was confused and it hurt to think about it. A voice, this time clearer. "Can you hear me Harry?" A gurgle in response, "Harry James Potter, you idiot!" Harry recognized the tender sneer at the end of the phrase as his hearing sharpened to it. "What were you doing in muggle London? I thought you were dead! You prat! And driving a motorcycle, without a helmet? Do you have a deathwish? I swear to you, I am going to bring you back, you are not getting off this easy. You are not getting off this easy. Idiot." The blond muttered and grumbled, almost sure that his unconscious charge couldn't hear or understand a word he was saying.


	2. History, Mystery

Disclaimer: I do not own any elements of the potterverse, I just borrow them.

**Authors Notes:** Halfway through chapter three, but finals are upon me. We'll see if I get anywhere with it in the next week.

Chapter Two: History, Mystery

Draco Malfoy had led a less than glamorous life. The death of Voldemort and eventual witch hunt of all of his former followers had led to a state of near orphanage at an early age, with both of his parents essentially dead after being sentenced to the Dementors Kiss. By some strange luck, The Boy Wonder himself had asked for a pardon for Draco, and by the grace of some divine power -or perhaps the paperwork was merely lost in the ministry, with all the arrests and reparations happening at the time- it was granted. Draco, curious, had pursued Potter for several years after that, seeking contact, desiring to thank him, or at least understand _why?_ Harry had politely deflected all of his attempts, and politely gone on to live a polite existence, politely deferring his fame, politely marrying Ginny Weasely, politely accepting it when she left him for no obvious reason, politely pursuing a career hunting exotic creatures, and eventually, politely being frozen solid by a basalisk in the middle of Australia.

Draco, meanwhile, had lived in near constant agony that Potter would not permit him to repair his pride through a thank you, or even deign to spar verbally with him through carefully placed insults. Indeed, Potter became immune to him, and simply _stopped noticing_, and it was only until the ugly reality of it sunk in that Draco realized how desperately he wanted him to notice in the first place. Ever since that first day on the train, when Draco had tentatively presented out his hand and offered friendship, to have it rejected, his life had been spent being preoccupied with the whereabouts, doings, and ways to get the raven haired, green eyed enigma to acknowledge his existence.

Frankly, the whole thing embarrassed him.

He remembered flashes of green, as his life flew by in it. Was it not emerald green eyes peering at him, all at once full of impassioned fury and righteous pity, it was the green of the skin of the monster that destroyed his family, the "Dark Lord," or the flash of the curse that had brought worlds down around him. Green never led to positive memories, no, his miserable existence was reflected in the sickly green tiles of the floor of the hospital he worked in, and wallowed in.

He came to hate the color, with time, even as it was "his" Slytherin color.

Draco remembered the day the papers blared "Savior of the Wizarding World Frozen!" and the tearful parade as the freshly imported stone 'corpse' of Harry Potter was carried down the streets of London. He remembered the silence those few days, the knowing looks exchanged between strangers, the weeping young women as they mourned the loss of their imaginary icon. He remembered sitting down in the middle of Saint Mungos at midnight, eyes too weary and shocked to cry, and sure that he alone was the only one that mourned the loss of Harry The Prat, while the rest of the world wept bitter tears for something he merely represented.

And that night, he apparated away from everything he knew, moved into a small flat in Muggle London, and translated his mediwitch skills, along with some carefully placed bribes and forgeries, into gaining a successful reputation as one of the best Emergency Room Doctors in all of the UK.

And he remembered standing in the changing room, ready to take off the scrubs from a hard ten hour shift, exhausted and ready for a day of rest, and the yelping from his beeper announcing a level one, a life-or-death admit. And as he ran down the hall, his life kept coming in flashes of green as unwelcome memories flew past, until, bursting open the trauma room doors, his eyes fell on the most unexpected figure bleeding profusely on the table. _So help me God, Harry James Potter, I Will Not Let You Die._


	3. Open eyes, open wards

Disclaimer: I own nothing

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing! Only my ideas.

**Authors notes: **So, today I realized a great folly in my plotline. If Harry was simply frozen by a basalisk, a Mandrake Restorative Drought would have brought him back. As I don't want to go back and edit the original story line, I like the idea of a statue Harry floating around Diagon Alley somewhere, so somehow I'll address this when we get into exploring Harry's "death" in a few chapters. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 3: Open eyes, open wards

The door clicked shut softly, too softly to wake the slumbering lion in the hospital bed, but the whispered locking charm pulled him out of his deep sleep. With great amounts of difficulty, Harry slowly cracked his eyes open a quarter inch, taking in the blurry scene around him. He wasn't sure where he was, or what he was doing sleeping as the golden rays came through the window, but one thing he was sure of: The lanky blonde figure in white walking towards him with a wand probably was not very well intentioned.

He tensed as words began to flow out of the blondes mouth, wand swishing through the air with the ease of one who has cast a million times, and prepared to spring up to his own defense, muscles coiling and lungs filling with air as he gathered all of his energy to… lift his arm an inch, drop it, and weakly mumble, in an accusing, scornful kind of way, "Malf.. no."

Draco stopped his arm movements and stared, unable to trust his senses. Sure enough, Harry's eyes were open, confused green eyes peering at him through accumulated bloody crusts as his wand arm moved futilely beside him. Less than three hours prior, immediately after Harry had left the ER, Draco had (against the wishes of the nursing staff) inserted a temporary feeding tube into Harry, tapped into his private stash of potions and discreetly mixed a blood replenishing potion, skele-gro, and one of his personal creations that repaired organ damage into the tube feeding bag. He knew it would help, but he had no idea Harry would already be conscious, let alone attempting to fight him off.

"Harry, I'm here to help you.. You're at a muggle hospital, you've been the victim of a hit-and-run, a concerned driver found you on the side of the road, and I am now your attending physician." He lifted his wand again to start the spell he'd been crafting again. Harry gurgled, frustrated sounding. "Listen, Wonder Boy, I practiced as a mediwitch for years before you, well, were frozen. I am bound by my own conscience, the muggle Hippocratic oath, as well as the Mungonian oath in our old world not to hurt you. I am casting a spell to stabilize your bones as they regrow, another to protect your organs, and a third to let me know immediately if you take a turn for the worse. If you'd please stop fussing, let me save your life, I owe you at least that!" Draco quickly shut his mouth at the last sentence. He had explained his duties as well as the procedure with the same set calm and soothing smile he used every day in the ER, to calm frantic mothers of dying children, or scared patients with minor ailments. Until he hit the last sentence, and his voice cracked, allowing out a rush of emotions he had kept pent up for several years. He choked for a moment, eyes misting as the world went green, again.

Harry listened and watched, still groggy and unable to understand what exactly was going on. All he heard was a soft, generic kindness- _from malfoy?_ – and a sudden intensity, a burst of emotion that reminded him of when Ginny sat him down at the table and told him she couldn't do it any more, Ginny with her red hair and red cheeks, and red rimmed eyes from too many tears, Ginny looking at him, pleading, one last time before shutting the door as he, politely, sat down in their kitchen, politely empty, with obligatory pain and sorrow. There was the world in red again, and his eyes closed as he lost himself in memory.

Draco cast. Harry's eyes snapped back open, suspicion of the magic slowly encasing his body pulling him out of his temporary mental prison. He peered curiously at the blonde, who moved his wand in practiced swishes, rambling in latin that flowed past Harry's ears like water. But no harm came, only a sensation of fullness as his organs were each warded individually to keep them safe, and a comfortable stiffness as his bones set, followed by the sensation of being wrapped in a blanket as Mafoy set the ward that would alert him if Harry's condition worsened.

Draco looked at the prone, suspicious, fighter in the bed once he finished casting. Harry barely had the strength to open his eyes or twitch his finger, but he still was looking him with a seething loathing, as if by looks alone he could kill his archrival. _Perhaps he can,_ a fleeting thought, the blonde shook his head for such sappy sentiments_, this is not anybody special_, he thought to himself, _this is just a patient, a patient that seriously needs my help, whether or not he wants it._

But regardless of how often he thought that to himself, he couldn't shake the plethora of mixed emotions he felt as Harry glared at him. He was joyful, overwhelmingly happy to finally, finally be noticed again by the man he had chased and thought was dead, but a piece of him sorely regretted that it was with such venom Harry looked at him. Hesitatingly, he stepped forward. "Feel better, Potter," he said, softly, and rested one warm hand on Harry's shoulder. Emerald eyes began to drift towards his, but before he could meet them, Draco turned and walked briskly out of the room, waving his wand to dismiss the wards locking the room and discreetly hiding his wand again.


End file.
